


The Next Day

by iWantMyDrumfredBack (BornBlue)



Series: Drummond Is Not Dead [12]
Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: But light angst, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, and as we leave them i'm afraid they're not as happy as I'd like, because as you know Drummond is not dead, lots of lovely thoughts, the morning after...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-26 19:50:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14409381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BornBlue/pseuds/iWantMyDrumfredBack
Summary: Moving from friends to lovers is a blessing, but a mixed one....Alfred and Edward try to juggle the complicated terrain of love in a dangerous time.





	The Next Day

Neither of them was accustomed to sleeping on the floor, but they dozed right where they had landed. It was Alfred who woke first. His backside was sore from laying on the rug for so long; there would be no returning to slumber now. _Next time perhaps we should try the bed_ , he thought, but they really couldn’t afford to be comfortable anyway. Edward would have to get dressed and find a way to slip home quietly before the servants arrived. This would be their life, and they both had to grow accustomed to sneaking and subterfuge. He dreamt that someday they might have the luxury of sleeping in a comfortable bed together—wrapped up in sheets and one another—and rising with the sun and the rest of London. But he couldn’t imagine that opportunity arising anytime soon—and probably not ever. He sighed and stroked Edward’s hair as he dozed across his chest; he wanted so much, but he would have to take what he could get with his magnificent new lover.

 

His concern at the moment was the hour. They couldn’t afford any careless mistakes, and since their private interlude had arisen so suddenly, he hadn’t made any plans or provisions in advance. They seemed always to be stumbling about with no one to instruct them—always improvising, always making do.

 

He tried to gently lift Edward from his chest and lay him on the floor, but both their slumbers had been fitful, and he stirred, too.

 

“Alfred?” came Edward’s sleepy voice, as he stretched himself awake.

 

“I’m sorry—I didn’t want to wake you yet, but I thought I should check the time and make sure it’s not getting too late. Or too early, really.”

 

Alfred fumbled to light the nearest candle. With the curtains closed and the light from earlier in the evening having extinguished, it was nearly pitch black in the room. When the flint finally produced a flame, it burst forth suddenly, illuminating Edward’s chiseled form at his feet. It gave Alfred the impression of a statue of an ancient Greek, or perhaps an angel dropped from heaven, sent for his own delight. He was nearly overcome with renewed desire, but made a concerted effort to keep himself steadied. It was important that he check the time without delay.

 

 

__________

 

 

Drummond was beyond grateful to finally have had such a leisurely, intimate respite alone with Alfred, but it certainly hadn’t made leaving any easier.

 

By the time they had woken from their half-sleep, aching from the hard floor beneath the rug, it had already been almost five o’clock. The servants would begin arriving within the hour, so they’d had no time to spare in clearing the evidence of their tryst and sponging themselves quickly to remove the traces from their skin—a process which had threatened to take a more sensual turn, and certainly would have had they been granted the luxury of more time together. Edward hated having to throw on his clothes hastily and duck out the carriage exit with no time to give his lover all but the most hurried affection. How could he pack all the ardor of this first journey to euphoria into the briefest kiss? How could he make Alfred feel in that fleeting moment just how much he loved him—how blessed he had made him feel—how happy this night had left him? He didn’t think he could, yet it was all they were allowed before Alfred fastened his cravat, handed him his portfolio, and sent him scurrying like a rat into the night. It all seemed so slapdash and clandestine. A bit of his heart broke as he considered the need for secrecy when all he wanted was to shout to the world that _he loved Lord Alfred Paget! And Alfred loved him back—_ _only_ _him—not Wilhelmina Coke! Alfred loved_ _him_ _!_

 

As he walked the dark London streets, he was grateful not to have to greet anyone who might pass him by, for he was certain one look in his eyes would tell them exactly what he had been up to. It must be written on his face, for he felt like an entirely different man than the one who had left Harriet’s coach to enter the graceful parlor of 42 Grosvenors Place. Thankfully, he had passed to his residence unseen—at least, he hoped he had; it was impossible to be certain—and was once again in the company of only himself. To be honest, it felt a little lonely now, when he craved nothing so much as to still feel Alfred’s arms around him.

 

Sleep would not return, so he removed his clothes from the day before to dress for a new dawn. He couldn’t quite bring himself to put yesterday’s shirt with the soiled clothes for the washer-woman to clean; he could smell a bit of Alfred on them—it evoked vivid memories of their pleasure, and he could not know how long it would be until he would have that again. He tucked it under his pillow so he could smell it before he fell asleep at night; maybe his dreams of Alfred would be even better now that he knew more fully the pleasures of _all_ of Alfred’s body—and where that could lead him.

 

He got to the House quite early, and could already feel just how tired he would be by day’s end. But no matter; he wouldn’t have given up his restless night’s sleep on Alfred’s parlor floor for all the tea in China. As the hour grew later, the corridors and offices filled with Lords, clerks, and secretaries, and Drummond began to notice a peculiar feeling. Every person he looked at seemed to stand on the other side of an imaginary divide. They all had their staid little lives—with courtships, wives, children—while he had the most magnificent, delicious lover who was a secret for him alone. The idea made him feel a bit like a spy harboring his identity from everyone else. And if he were being honest, it made him feel a bit smug, too. They would never know what it was to be loved—and to be pleasured—by his intoxicating Alfred. Poor sods; they had no idea what real ecstasy was. 

 

 _Though, come to think of it, maybe they had secrets, too_. Maybe their minds wandered while going about their business, as his was today. Maybe they were suddenly pricked by the daydream of a lover’s inner thigh… unexpectedly reminded of the softness of newly exposed skin… randomly overcome by the memory of being touched in the places they would not speak of. Perhaps they, too, had experienced their own mysterious sensations and elations. He could not think on it too long, especially of being touched _there_ , or he would feel his excitement begin to grow, and this was most certainly _not_ the place for that.

 

He was seated at his desk trying—and failing—to concentrate on work. If only there were a debate on the floor, he might have something more engaging to occupy his mind! But alas, he was currently occupied with what one might consider the busywork of his job as secretary: writing legislative drafts, reviewing proposals for party negotiations, preparing arguments for the railway debate. It would normally not have been difficult to put his mind to these tasks; he enjoyed his position, even what others might consider the less exciting aspects of it. But today everything felt different. _He_ felt different, and found it hard to believe no one else had noticed. Surely, he must _look_ different, too? More distracting yet was that his mind kept lighting on Alfred—their words of love, their sensual disrobing, their frenzied climax… all these things had happened—hadn’t they? How could he be sitting here now doing the same things he did yesterday, when he had been fundamentally altered?! It seemed so strange that his own world had shifted 180 degrees, while nothing else seemed to have changed at all.

 

“…I said, Drummond, have you finished outlining the arguments for the railway legislation?” He had no idea how long Sir Robert had been standing there talking to him, but clearly it had been long enough for him to be perturbed.

 

“Um, pardon me, sir, um, yes, nearly. I believe I just have to add that final point you wished to make about compulsory purchase.” Drummond was fully attentive again—for the moment, at least.

 

“Good. We need to brief the Queen this morning, and I’d like to get the Prince’s opinion as well; he has a vision for this. When it’s done, tell me and summon the carriage.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Drummond’s heart was now fully pounding. He had only been apart from Alfred for roughly five hours, but they had seemed to be the longest of his life.

 

As he focused his mind on the task at hand—and he now had an excellent motivation for doing so—he began to wonder what this visit would be like. Last night he had been so happy to join the royal party, but once there had found it hard to see Alfred in the old settings as… well, as lovers now, and no longer merely friends. It had certainly turned out well enough in the end—no complaints there—but Drummond knew there was no chance of a private encounter today. How in the world would he maintain his composure now that they had shared such intimacies? How would he keep himself from picturing Alfred deliciously naked before him as he was last night?

 

The carriage ride was downright painful. He seemed unable to fully concentrate on any of the Prime Minister’s words (for the first time, he thought of them as “ramblings”) and was growing more nervous by the moment. His heart was beating so hard in his chest he was surprised Sir Robert hadn’t commented on it.

 

 

__________

 

 

Alfred was working very hard to maintain his attention on the ledgers the Prince was scouring over. Every now and then, the Queen would look up from her papers and clarify an expense His Royal Highness was questioning, which would lead to a bit of marital bickering. On most days, their quibbles didn’t bother Alfred; in fact, he found them rather amusing and would simply appear absorbed in the books before him, chuckling to himself while they worked out their disagreements. Today, however, he was tired and lacking in patience, and every little thing seemed to annoy him.

 

As wonderful as the night before had been, he couldn’t help feeling aggrieved. Sending Edward out the back of the house before daybreak, hiding all evidence that he’d stayed there, knowing that his lovely bed was right upstairs and, while they might enjoy it for a few hours another time, they would most likely never get to languish in it together into a lazy morning. Wouldn’t it be bliss to sleep as late as they wanted and make love all over again in the light of day without fretting about the time? All he wanted was to love Edward in peace. Why should that be illegal? How could that possibly hurt anyone?

 

As the squabble continued around him, Alfred was lost in his thoughts, grieving the simple joys they would never be allowed to have, when he heard voices in the hall. It took almost no time for him to recognize Edward’s lyrical baritone in conversation with the Prime Minister. As they came into view, his heart felt like it did some movement akin to a flip, and his stomach seemed to have risen to meet his chest; everything within him felt suddenly out of place and discombobulated, yet it was an oddly agreeable sensation.

 

As always, Edward looked so very handsome, once again wearing the burgundy coat Alfred loved. Even though the rest of his clothes were fresh, Alfred couldn’t help but return in his mind to the night before, being swept into Edward’s arms, feeling the warmth of his lips and his tongue, removing his cravat, unbuttoning his trousers….

 

 _This really would not do._ The look on his face must have been scandalous, but fortunately it appeared only Edward was paying him any attention.

 

“Ma’am,” Sir Robert bowed as he began, “I’m grateful to find you both here. I was hoping I might discuss with you and Your Royal Highness”—he nodded to Prince Albert—“the upcoming debate over the railway bill.”

 

“It’s probably best to leave the accounts for a while anyway,” the Queen replied, with an irked glance at the Prince. “But Sir Robert, I must admonish you for being a slavedriver. Sending your secretary to the palace well past reasonable working hours for a mere signature or two…?”

 

It would appear Edward had his wits about him. “Your Majesty, I was most grateful for your invitation to join the royal party. Thanks to your graciousness, it didn’t feel like work at all.”

 

“Then you enjoyed the evening, Mr. Drummond?” the Queen inquired.

 

After a barely discernible pause, Edward replied, “Ma’am, it was the most delightful evening I’ve passed in recent memory.”

 

Alfred's cheeks began to flush, and he saw a sly smirk turning up the corner of Edward’s mouth moments before their eyes met. He had to look away quickly before the events of the “delightful evening” showed on his face.

  

__________

 

 

The rest of the conversation passed in the usual fashion: with Drummond and Alfred positioned across from one another, trying to concentrate on the conversation between their superiors and succeeding only intermittently. Their eyes were invariably drawn to each other, and today it was harder than usual to look away.

 

Edward could barely take his eyes off of Alfred. At times, he found Sir Robert’s hand reaching for a document that should have been at the ready; Drummond usually had an uncanny ability to anticipate the Prime Minister’s requests. After a few of these missteps, a puzzled, annoyed glance served as warning to Drummond to pull himself together. He redoubled his efforts to pay attention and stay on top of the business at hand. Alfred clearly wasn’t trying to distract Edward, yet those eyes kept beckoning….

 

When the conversation was drawing to a close, Drummond hoped he might be able to linger for a bit and talk with Alfred, but Sir Robert immediately pulled him aside and led him to the corridor to speak privately.

 

“You seem out of sorts, Drummond. Everything alright? Are you—um—troubled about Florence, maybe?”

 

 _Oh no, not a variation on_ _that_ _conversation again._ Drummond thought it had been laid to rest, but clearly it was going to keep popping up on random occasions. Would he never be able to put it—and her—behind him?

 

“No, sir, I’m not—not in the least. I… I just didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all. It won’t happen again.”

 

Sir Robert looked skeptical. “I know things have been busy lately, and I’ve been working you hard. Lots of concerns trying to keep the party from splintering. If I’ve laid too much of that at your feet, I beg your pardon. I’ve come to rely on your, um… ability to read a situation and keep me on solid political footing. Sometimes I may forget you’re younger than your abilities suggest. If there’s anything you need to get off your chest, you can speak to me, but I can’t spare you right now, Drummond; I need you to be alert. Understand?”

 

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. Perhaps I’ll walk back to the House if you don’t mind. Some fresh air might help to clear my head.”

 

“Alright. Just don’t take too long. I need to go over strategy with you for the party meeting this afternoon. We’ll do that in about an hour, alright?”

 

“Of course, sir.” And Sir Robert was off.

 

Drummond watched him go and breathed a sigh of… what? relief that the conversation had ended? or concern that he was thrown off his professional competence by his romantic success? How in the world would he ever regain his equilibrium when his thoughts were consumed by Alfred, and those thoughts caused him to remember their passion and his ecstasy… and that caused his heart to beat faster and his brain to turn soft and foggy….

 

“Drummond…?” He heard Alfred’s voice behind him, softly. He gasped quietly at the sound.

 

“Alfr— Lord Alfred. My apologies. Were you standing there long?”

 

“No.” Alfred looked around. “Is everything alright? I was hoping I might find you still here, but you seem to be miles away.”

 

When Drummond saw that Alfred’s eyes were soft with concern, he thought he might fall in love with him all over again.

 

“Just a conversation with the Prime Minister… it’s got me a bit preoccupied.” He smiled gently at Alfred while fighting the urge to reach out and pull him into his arms. If he could hold him—just hold him—everything would be alright, wouldn’t it?

 

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t hold him here. Not in the palace. In fact, he couldn’t hold him anywhere that wasn’t totally and securely private. It turns out, it was far more painful than he had ever thought it could be.

 

He needed to compose himself. He really had to get out of the palace—quickly. “I’m sorry, Lord Alfred, I need to be returning to the House.” He could feel himself pulling away from Alfred; he was finding it so difficult to be in his presence and not able to express his love at all.

 

Alfred looked puzzled for a moment, but smiled and said, “May I walk you out of the palace?”

 

Edward couldn’t say no. Part of him didn’t want to refuse, of course; he wanted to be with Alfred. But part of him wanted to leave him there; part of him wanted to get away from him until they could be properly together. He couldn’t say it, though, and he couldn’t turn Alfred down; he would never want to hurt him. “Of course.”

 

__________

 

 

They walked along in silence for a moment, Alfred occasionally brushing Edward’s fingers. It was their old “accidental touch,” and he did it out of habit. But while it had kept them going when their relationship was still all unfulfilled longing, it now felt bittersweet—a reminder of all the intimacy they had shared that could never even be acknowledged in public. He glanced sideways at Edward, glimpsing the dark curls in his hair and trying to make out the defined muscles beneath his coat. He wanted nothing so much as to touch him—to run his fingers through his hair, to lose himself in those strong arms. Or even just to take his hand and hold it properly.

 

As he was lost in those thoughts, Edward looked around and whispered to him, “When can I see you again? I can’t stop thinking about last night.”

 

Alfred closed his eyes for a brief moment, never losing stride. “Soon, I hope, but I don’t know exactly when. I do need to focus on my plan if we’re to have any relief in the future. I’m trying to concentrate on the long-term, Edward. I need to get us out of the Duchess’ crosshairs.” He could hear his voice betray the frustrations that had nagged at him since Edward had been forced to sneak out of his house in the dark.

 

“I’m sorry, Alfred; I’m sorry. I don’t mean to push. I just… I just want….” Drummond’s voice trailed off unsteadily.

 

“No—I’m not frustrated with you. It’s this damned—“ But just then, Miss Coke emerged from the hallway ahead. They closed their mouths and he slipped quickly into courtier mode, hoping that Edward would manage to hold himself together.

 

“Good morning, Miss Coke.”

 

“Miss Coke,” Drummond said. Alfred could tell he was trying to sound carefree, but he still needed practice at hiding his emotions when they were running high.

 

“Lord Alfred,” Miss Coke responded, looking with some curiosity between the two. “Mr. Drummond, what a surprise. I hadn’t seen you in so long, and suddenly twice in as many days. What a pleasure.”

 

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Coke.” Alfred was relieved that he sounded a bit more steady now.

 

Miss Coke took a step closer to Alfred and touched his arm lightly while addressing Drummond. “Did you enjoy Lord Alfred’s and my duet last night?” He shot a cautious look at Edward.

 

“It was most delightful. I always enjoy Mozart. And you both played it beautifully.”

 

“Do you play, Mr. Drummond?”

 

“No, I’m afraid I never learned.”

 

“Such a shame,” Miss Coke replied. “Music is like poetry—so expressive, don’t you think? It draws people together. And it’s a special joy to play a musical duet.” Color was rising in Drummond’s cheeks. “I’m so glad you enjoyed listening to it. Lord Alfred, I’ve found a Beethoven duet that I think would be delightful to work on next.”

 

“Beethoven, really?” Alfred replied, glancing at Edward from the corner of his eye. “I’m sure I would enjoy it.” He tried to add some finality to the statement; he wanted to get Edward away from Miss Coke quickly.

 

“I’ve been rediscovering my affection for Beethoven. I always thought of him as strictly old-school, but I’ve been discovering the romantic sensibility in his music. He seems to balance the finer feelings with a sense of tradition. It’s really a lovely combination.”

 

Miss Coke looked directly at Alfred as she spoke, but clearly Edward was absorbing the words. Alfred could see he was nearly trembling now. Before he could manage to intervene, Edward himself broke in. “My apologies, but I really must be going.” And before Alfred knew it, he had turned his back and was walking firmly away from them and up the stairs. His heart fell. He wasn’t quite sure what had just happened, but he knew it was not what he wanted for he and Edward on this first morning as lovers.

 

“Mr. Drummond left so suddenly." Miss Coke looked at Lord Alfred in surprise. "Was it something I said?”


End file.
